Me, the Prisoner of My Perception

Me as a prisoner of my own mind
I am a miner of the grind of my mind

Bound by the imagination of my infatuation
I am the reincarnation of my infatuated imagination

My imagination as my perception
My perception as the perception of the imaginary imagination
I make up my the destination of perception
Reality as my perceptions reality, I make up my perception as my reality, I make up my perception as my actuality

Perception as my creation and my cremation
Perception as my formation and my destruction
Perception of my ratification as my gratification, I have become a decoration of my perception, to my perception

To the perception of the perceivers perception perceiving the perception of the perceiver unto its own perception
I make up my Perception as my feed

My Feed as my need and my need as that which I bleed, that which I breed
I seed the need of the deed
And for the deed of the greed, I make up my web of the weed

In this web, I move step by step to loose all of my pep
Lost and frost in my own knots, the knots and not’s of my thoughts
I search for a way out, a way out of the web through the web, only to go round and round in my own web of perception through the deception of the perception
Until the moment I realize that I don’t know that I don’t know

Maybe then, I knock on the door of that which is not known
I try to stand on the floor of that which is not known
to undo that which is through the known
For every perception is of the known and every known is through the perception of the known

Maybe then, I may come across the unknown that which is not known to the known nor to the known-unknown
For I am neither the well known nor the known or the unknown through the known.

Imaginary

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Me & the World

Born to the ocean of the world
Learning the ways of the world as my mold to hold
Looking at the world through my past hold
Fooled to the idea of the old, I lost my bold

Unable to swim alone, disabled to think alone, blink alone
I look for the ship of relationships to sail me through my loneliness
A loneliness that stems from the ship of the friendships, the kinships, the courtships, the flagships and every other ship of relationships

Afraid of loneliness, I fear of being alone
As a runaway from aloneness and as a walkway of my life, I make my habit my life
Life as a habit, I have become a slave to my habitual grave

In the comfort of habit, in the comfort of the security of my habit
I create my hull with the repition of tradition, I recreate my skull with the mission of ambition for another tradition

In this repetitive tradition, I became a competition to my own premonition

Caught in these waves of my premonitions, I set sail with my ships full of frail
Riding the waves, abiding by the fav’s, becoming the waves
I rise and fall in the ocean of the world
I crash and trash within the potion of my mold

I create the chaos, so I can make the waves
the hate wave, the love wave, each is just a wave
the dark wave, the light wave, each is another wave to rave, to be a slave to the wave
so I can dance the dance of the wave
For the world is just another dance of the wave

When the dance is done, when the stance is done and done
I get the glance of the nature of the wave
I get the glance of the trance of the wave

Here and near when the fear and the smear and the rest that hear is no longer dear
I come to rest, I come back to the nest
Into the depths of the ocean, in the very motion with no motion
Within the abyss of this bliss, I have no eye for the I, nor an I for an I to miss

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Replacements as My Replenishments

Replacements as my replenishments
Replenishments as my acknowledgements
Acknowledgements as my accomplishments
And accomplishments as my compliments

I lament in the cement of these replacements
Never understanding the nature of my own replacements, my own accomplishments
For the root of a replacement lies in its replenishment, within its replenishment of the replacement

Swinging from one memory to another
Bringing each memory of another to another
Belonging to memory of my memories
I tether to the memories of each other

Never understanding that each one is alone, everyone is alone
For the one in each and the each in the one is always all alone
And the one in every and the every in everyone is always alone

Alone for alone, I alone become alone
For the lonely is not alone
And only alone is alone for alone

And maybe when I am truly alone and not lonely
I may come across the mind within the mind in my mind that is a bind of my loneliness
A loneliness that seeks replacements of one for another
One pleasure for another, one pain for another, another gain for another

Maybe here, I may come across that which is neither a placement nor a replacement of the opposites or the deposit of the opposites
Maybe then, where my mind is free of my opposites, I may no longer need replacements, no longer in need of replenishments of these replacements

Maybe then, I may have the ability to examine my own mind, my own bind for the grind
For a mind that is free, free of seeking, free of seeping is no longer sleeping

Champion

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Love, Memory & Thought

That which springs from the memory is not love
The mechanical repetition of memory is not love
The re-iteration of memory and reliving of memory in billion different ways is not love
And the inheritance of memory of love from my environment is not love

The pleasure of a memory is not love
The fear of a memory is not love
The escape of a memory is not love
The experience resulting from memory is not love

That which belongs to me, that which I think is mine, that which I think I posses is not love
It is only a memory, a memory of the thought
A thought of the memory

so many thoughts, so many not’s
so many not’s with so many knots
so many knots with so many thoughts

My own thoughts and the resulting memories are my own confinements, my own comfort
The more I try to escape, the more I try to cope, the more knots I weave, the more memories I cave myself into

How many thoughts till I am free from the memory of thoughts
No thought that I know thought as the thought

From no time to time I create time
And from time to time and in-between time, I create a space, space for a time, for a thought

Can this thought of mine be free of memory, can this thought be free of recollection, reliving of the memory?
If so, what would such thought and the resulting action if everyday life be?
And most importantly, what would the resulting I that I call MY, of such thought be?

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Life through a few Loaves of Bread

For a few loaves of bread and a few grains of grub
In-between the joys of pleasure and the sorrows of pain
I find my life I call life, I define this as my life

Enslaved to my desires
Engulfed by the objects of my desire

I make my desire my attire
And I roam the streets of slavery in the savory of my sorrows

Unable to create a life on my own
I recreate and procreate on the knife of pleasure and pain

Lost in the images of imagination, I build walls of hallucination
And I deck my walls with accusations of the other

Comfort as my fuel
Comfort of Security as my duel
I burn in the flames of my own habit

Unable to open up to the unknown
I stone the unknown for the known, to the known

I trade freedom for security to find freedom through security
For I know of no freedom without security and purity

I wonder if I am dreaming, if I am asleep
Only to realize that the dreamer and that is being dreamed are me, one and the same
I wonder of that which I wake up to, I wonder if that is another dream within my dream of the dream

Unknown of my own known, I weave a web of a prison, a prism
Where I am the thief and my own grief

Tired of the games and afraid of the memes and the names of the memes
Walloped by my own imagination, I no longer can gallop through my memory of life
For my life is through and for a few grains of grub and few loafs of bread

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Promise of My Mind

It is the promise of my mind
It is the promise of a body

It is for the comfort of my mind
It is for the comfort of the body’s mind

And with a Broken Mind and a Broken body
I try to awaken that is neither the body nor the mind

In between the body and the mind
Body of the mind and the product of mind from the body
I find my distraction

Distraction as my attraction
Attraction as my distraction
In the distraction of distraction, I find my interaction

In this interactive distraction, I find my illusion of the distractive interaction
Making this illusive distraction my contradiction

This contradiction as my mission, I envision my personification through this transition
to give permission to this condition as my rendition
the rendition of my sweet deceptive perception

In this contradictory attractive and distractive interaction, I find cooperation
Co-operation to keep this distraction an attraction
I sanction my action to this transaction

Every action as another transaction, an expansion of this transaction
I become the creation of my own destruction

Maybe here, maybe in this destruction, in this destructive creation
I be the un-creation to question my addiction

My addiction to this promise of my mind
To actually give permission to Listen, listen to my own promise of my own mind

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Like of the Likes

Living in the Likes
Liking the like of the likes

My life as a like
I frame the likes to farm more likes

And in this war for the likes
I forage the rage of the like and unlike
For my life has become a like and unlike alike

Striving for more likes, I strike for more likes
A strike that I box in, my life, for another like, another unlike

Like as my connect, I have become a disconnect
Disconnect of my own life, the very life

Living in the image of the like and unlike alike
I forge the unlike to like and like to unlike

Like and unlike as my reason for the season
And the Image of the like as my creation
I became the I of the eye that imagined the I through the eye

Images creating images from images to imagine the image of my imagination
I have become an image, an image I feel as a privilege
Intoxicated in this beverage of the image of privilege, I pillage every village of my image

Image of my Body as my boost
Image of my mind as my feast
I scavenge through the bodies and minds for another boost and another feast

In this feast, I have become a beast
A beast that exist, just for the yeast
So it can be the so called priest

Maybe when I let go of the feast of the yeast, the image of imagination, the creation of this imaginary infatuation
Maybe then, I may come across the provision of the like, separation of the imagination and confront my hallucination

Maybe when I move from this memory of the moment, a moment of the like, a movement to the like and the moment of the images imagination

Maybe then, I may move with the movement of the moments movement with the movement within the moment that has neither the movement nor the moment

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